


Monsters Within

by huenkai



Series: A̸͍̗͕̅͒̕ľ̶̠͒̃w̴̞͉̽̏̋͛̚͝a̴̘͑͑̔̾͜y̴̫̘͇͊͒s̶̘̖̜̗̒̑ ̸̞̼̝̙̓̈́Ẇ̸͖̆̓͑a̶̝̅̈́̊ẗ̸͕͚͔͇͈̺́̓͛̋c̶̜̳͑͊̈́͗̽ḩ̴̹͎̭̮̊͛͜ì̷̩̾͝n̷̪̮̆̉̋̾͜͝g̸̟̬̬͋͊̍̚ [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Blood, Clowns, Darkness, F/M, Gen, Gore, Gunshot, M/M, Markiplier Alter Ego, Multiple Selves, Multiple injuries, News, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Septicego, Shooting, Squirrels, Surgery, Zombie, clown, glitch - Freeform, murder?, void
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huenkai/pseuds/huenkai
Summary: Impatiently waiting and desperate to be released from the chains that bind him to the void, Anti finds a way to escape the forsaken realm which imprisoned both him and his fellow demon. And Wilford wanted to help out.A bunch of loosely connected ficlets! All are posted at random! You have been warned!





	1. Eye Candy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jameson certainly wasn’t expecting someone to come at this time of the day—especially him, whose face he hadn’t seen in well over a year. Nothing could describe how happy he was to see that face of his. So what if he hasn’t showed up in a long time? All that matters was that he was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this would be my first time actually posting here and I'm still getting a hang of these things. Also, I am really excited about this project! I have always wanted to write about the Egos, and well, here it is!
> 
> Just a side note: the Colonel is currently serving the army in this timeline, and uhm, there’s a war going on, so that’s something to look out for!

Wads of paper clutter all over the park grounds, and discarded candy wraps sat in a crumpled heap by the corner of his shop. Through the glass, he could see children scatter about, clinging onto their parents as they pass by his display. None seem to take any interest in his candy and he had a good idea why. The scalding hot pavement and the summer heat gave them all the more reason to get ice cream.

Standing behind the counter was none other than Jameson. He played his bushy mustache in between his fingers, twirling them as he did. It was summer, and normally, children would come bursting through the doors but there doesn’t seem to be any little feet scampering around at the moment. Maybe he could revive the sales and get the kids after his treats? If he could remember correctly, he had new stocks of that new candy he bought from the other day. Jameson spotted his assistant and beckoned him over. “Mind covering for me?”

“And miss my only break?” his Swedish companion, Robin, was just about to finish refilling the jar with goods. He seemed very eager to get out the door and have his lunch.

“I’ve got to take care of something in the back. We never know when someone will come walking through the door to buy our delectable candy.” the Irishman reasoned.

“I doubt it.” Robin blurted, immediately regretting what he just said.

Offended was the candy store owner as he replied in defense. “Doubt it, you say? They love my candy! They just don’t know what they’re missing out on!”

“How about this,” the man offered, twisting the lid of the glass container close after he finished replenishing it with the sugary sweets. “Why don’t you watch over the counter and let me do the work in the back?”

Smiling, Jameson agreed. “Good idea! Go get the new stocks out. They’re in the top shelf. You can’t miss it.”

“This won’t take long.” his attendant promised.

Once again, the store owner smiled. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Anytime.” replied the man before he disappeared into the storage room.

His smile dropped from off his face as he thought about what he had said earlier. Had his business gone that bad? Jameson pondered a bit. It couldn’t have! The town was busy, and it was summer, after all.

Minutes dragged on for eternity, and Jameson wasn’t dealing with it all too well. His mind then drifted back to the old times, where his shop used to haul in all the customers. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth. Should he give the business up? More sighs were exhaled. Jameson cradled his head in his hands. The rent was killing him. He pressed his eyes close, contemplating whether he would keep the shop or sell it off. He carefully weighed his options, and the sound of shutting down the establishment he worked so hard for was tempting. Then there’s the bank. Perhaps he could take a little break?

Just when he was about to lose hope, a figure walked right through his door. The sound of the bell prompted him out of his stupor and made him jump in surprise. “What a day!”

Jameson couldn’t agree more. What a day indeed. He certainly wasn’t expecting someone to come at this time of the day—especially him, whose face he hadn’t seen in well over a year. Nothing could describe how happy he was to see that face of his. So what if he hasn’t showed up in a long time? All that matters was that he was here. Jameson welcomed him with great enthusiasm. “Top of the mornin to ya, Colonel!”

Belting out a big hearty laugh, the man in uniform held a hand to his chest. Every worry he had in his body ebbed away. His smile reached his ears as he watched his old friend approach the counter. “Jameson, my good chap!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Will.” replied the Candy man. “Fresh from the field, it seems.”

“Right you are!”

“How was the war?”

The soldier ignored his question. Leaning towards the counter, William was about to zero in on him. “You haven’t aged a day. Have you always been this pretty?”

“One more word from you, and I would have to ask you to get out.” Jameson cut him off before he could ever continue.

“But I’m a customer! I’m here for your goods!” cried the man, which sounded a bit off. He could sense he was about to make a move on him. William placed a finger on one of the jars in display and said slyly. “And I bet these sweets are as tasty as you. I’d like all of them, please.” winked the Colonel, much to the man’s dismay.

“Damn it, Will!” his ears turned red and his friend picked up on this.

Emerging from the back of the store with the retrieved items, Rob held the box with both hands. While so, he inspected Jameson’s face. “Is the boss blushing or is it just me?”

Caught by surprise, this flustered the Candy man further. “Christ almighty! Don't sneak up on me like that!”

Robin chuckled in response. He then tipped his head to the stranger and William smiled. “Good day, sir. Robin, at your service. Hope you two are having fun.”

“What wonderful staff you got yourself.” the Colonel remarked. “That reminds me! How’s the business going? Fill me in on all the details.”

The question sent needles into his heart. Jameson didn’t want to lie. His friend helped with the finances, and he had the right to know. “Not so good as it used to. But I’m holding up just fine.”

Despite of what he said, the Colonel beamed at him. “That’s great to hear!”

“Yet he’s barely holding it together.” Robin added.

“Shut yer mouth. You don’t know a thing!”

“Look on the bright side—she’s still standing!”

Jameson was quiet. How could the man be so positive about it? One more month, and the bank was going to take his business away in a snap. “I know how you helped raise money for my cause, and it’s a shame how I couldn’t take care of it.”

“Oh, nonsense! It’s only a little amount. Nothing I couldn’t manage.” William reassured him.

“What brings you around these parts?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing so dangerously close to the borders?” his tone went serious. “Have I not told you the perils of being in this city specifically?”

“Fair point. Had to move the franchise for cheaper rent. But what’s your business here?”

“I’m here for your candy. Haven’t had them since the war. I miss those sweets and how they pop in my mouth!”

“Isn’t it too much of a coincidence for you to show up here?” the man said asked. It was odd for him to drop by and visit. There had to be something wrong. “What’s going on, William?”

“This shouldn’t concern you, old chap.”

“William. Don’t try and get your way around this. Tell me the truth.”

Then, it was silent. William opened his mouth only to close it again. It was as if he was struggling to get the words out. He wrestled with his mind. Should he tell him? They only had so little time left. “I suggest you move out of here and come with me.”

Robin was watching with anticipation.

“Why would I? You won’t even tell me why you’re here!” was the Candy man’s answer.

“Look, I’ve been assigned to this post recently. The war isn’t exactly over yet.” explained the Colonel. Disbelief was visible in his friend’s eyes. He had no time to convince him.

Sirens could be heard from the distance. Panic began to take over the soldier. “Damn it!”

“Sweet mother of candy, there’s an air raid.” a startled Robin dropped whatever he was holding and dashed to the windows where he could see war planes in the air.

“I’ll be taking my leave.” stated the Colonel, who was heading to the door.

“Wait—!” Jameson pushed the door to his counter, trying to catch up to his friend.

William spun on his heel to face the man. He held his shaking shoulders still, squeezing them tight. “If you’re worried about me, you shouldn’t be. Hurry to the shelter, you’ll be safer there.”

“But what about the store?”

“What about it? We can work things out. Your life costs more than this old shop.”

“Where will I find you?”

“When I return, I want to see you in perfect condition at the bunker because we have _so much_ catching up to do.” the Colonel smiled at him longingly.

“I swear, Will, if you don’t come back, I won’t forgive you.”

“I promise then. Cross my heart, and hope to die and all that malarkey.”

Without another word, he was off.

 

Enemy planes were relentless. Bombs came in like rain, and nearly nothing was spared from the destruction. Smoke swallowed the city, engulfing every streets in its choking hold. Jameson was only waiting for the inevitable.

Explosions rang from the south borders. Troops defended what was left of the city. And the Colonel, the poor soul, was warding off the threats coming from the other side of the border. It wasn’t long until it was over.

For a moment, it was silent.

At the very second they were allowed to go, he rushed to the bunker which barely survived the shock.

“Where are you?” dread starts to take over him, his voice shaking in fear. He couldn’t find him in the shelter. The place left for him to look at was the store.

Practically everything around him was in chaos. Most of the people were darting left to right, while he was moving aimlessly in the streets, pushing his way through the crowd. The soles of his shoes pounded on the concrete, and his heart was no different. It was as if it was about to leap out of his throat at any minute, at any second.

 _He wanted to see Jameson_.

The sirens wailed, signaling the second wave. He was too late.

“Jameson?! Jameson!”

Once the smoke had cleared, and the dust had settled, he could see what remained of his friend’s little shop. It was in complete ruin. The walls had crumbled, and the structure had taken heavy hits. Shards of glass lay broken on the front. Right next to his establishment were debris from what used to be chains of stores.

And she’s still standing.

They might be there. There was still hope.

William ran as far as his body allowed him. The Colonel could barely stand in his current state. Even so, he called out to them breathlessly. “Jameson? Robin?”

Fire consumed the streets as well as the buildings. The lack of answers or any sort of response from either made him worry that they hadn’t—no, they couldn’t possibly be. William refused to believe they were dead.

Only one thing was on his mind—one man, one name. “Jameson!”

The man was nowhere to be found. Not even his corpse or even the slightest trace of him could be seen.

Rubbles were dyed in brilliant red. William choked on the coppery stench. His breath was caught in his throat. His knees wobbled as he was clearly weak from all the running. It wasn’t long until his knees have in and sank to the ground. He couldn't bear seeing his body crushed into pulp.

Silence.

Blood.

Collapsing into itself, the broken walls groaned and fell. His shoulders dropped at the realization that his best friend was no more. He knew he couldn’t stay there for long. He willed his heavy feet, and pleaded for his body to move.

Tremors shook the earth once more as shells were being dropped off the planes.

Something hot prickled his eyes, and only then did he notice his tears falling down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was only supposed to be light-hearted flirting but ended up as a tragedy. I really wasn’t going for angst, but I did otherwise. So here it is!
> 
> If in case the ending wasn’t clear, Jameson dies from the war which tips the Colonel further into insanity. I couldn’t exactly pin down the exact year this part is set in, since they’re both clearly from separate timelines with their fashion style being different, which also explains why there’s so many historical inaccuracies and inconsistencies.
> 
> And the money that funded the business was from Mark, because why not?


	2. Masks and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, this wasn’t the time to lose hope. He’s Bim Trimmer—the genius man behind the creation of famous game shows. There was absolutely no way he would let his dying show mark the end of his career. That wasn’t how he would like to go down. How pathetic if he were to allow that to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: the Egos have no idea about being Egos. And most of them have yet to meet each other.

Show business wasn’t easy. Bim was aware of that fact not so long ago. You had to keep the ratings up if you want to keep the business going. Put on a good show, get the audience on the edge of their seats, and make them  _beg_  for more.

That was how it goes—the way it has always been.

Sadly, his views had been dropping steadily for the last few months and nearly all of his audience had gone in a blink. Television wasn’t exactly as huge as it were back in the day, he reminded himself. Those days were over.

How was he going to pay his rent now? No, this wasn’t the time to lose hope. He’s _Bim Trimmer_ —the genius man behind the creation of famous game shows. There was absolutely no way he would let his dying show mark the end of his career. That wasn’t how he would like to go down. How pathetic if he were to allow that to happen.

Truth be told, his career was far from over. His salary just wasn’t making the cut, with the huge amount he was paying for the month. Who was going to feed his dog now? Certainly not itself. The idea of his pet feeding off of scraps from the garbage, left to fend for itself broke his heart. Bim knew he had to come up with the next big thing. That is, if he wanted to keep his home, and not to mention, the charity he was funding.

And he had to maintain his diet. Flesh was expensive, after all. The exotic meats—ones you can’t get your hands on from any typical grocery stores.

But the slideshows and charts were incredibly bland and boring as hell. Bim endured the first twenty minutes of a lengthy introduction, and he could barely pay attention to a single word that was being said. The amount of time and sleep he was sacrificing was far too great. He could have been better off snoozing out on his booth, where he couldn’t be bothered less about their channel’s impending doom. There wasn’t much need for him at the moment. The group would be too busy butting heads to bother addressing him, completely forgetting his very existence.

Either way, he was bound to his seat and was forced listen against his will. He practically had no choice. Their network head has summoned them to the meeting room to discuss matters regarding the show. His show, specifically. Fresh new series were eager for him to end the contract and kiss his show goodbye. That would certainly seal the deal for him. “And that is why I propose renewing a second season of Chase Brody’s  _Bro Average_  for this year.”

Already a couple of minutes in, the board members were getting into a very heated argument about whether or not to let go of their old time originals. It was just as Bim had predicted.

“I think the fuck not. That show wasn’t even making any views in the first place!” following that little incident of his, the vlogger has yet to appear on the screen. True, he did receive plenty of criticism for pulling off that dangerous stunt that very nearly cost him his life. It was agreed upon by the company head that he would debut in a much later date. Finally recovering from his wound, Chase and his injured body was still adjusting to the medications he was taking. If he were to return, it would be too soon. His health has yet to improve since. “But the interviews with Warfstache sure raked in a lot of numbers. It is interesting and has potential.”

“A new season should be in order.” sure, Bim could hand the reigns over to the old man. Then again, he was insane. Too unstable, as he would put it. A madman.

“I think it would be best if we asked Bim about his opinion first.” suggested his staff member. “He is here, and he has a right to speak as well.”

“I’m just saying, we could cancel Pew News and Hire My Ass to somehow bring back the interviews and Bro Average: Teabag Edition.”

“I second his notion.”

“Are you stupid? They’re the best shows in the history of television!” Gloria proclaimed in defense.

“Can’t we find a way to squeeze them all in so no show would be cancelled?”

“You’re being unreasonably sentimental.”

“Trimmer, what are your thoughts on this?” one of his superiors called, snapping him out of his trance. “Trimmer?”

“Yes?” replied the soon to be former game show host in an unsure tone. All eyes were on him. Only then did he realize what he just said. He coughed and chuckled dryly. “I mean, heavens  _no_ , we definitely should not cancel anything. Gloria Borger is the most beautiful woman I know and she deserves to stay in this wonderful industry.”

His response made the news anchor blush a deep red.

“So, what do you think we _should_ do?” his men flashed the slides, presenting to him these dull pictures with words in them and other things he had little to no interest in. He wanted to know what the kids were into these days, what were the latest trends, and not these stupid bar graphs about how the people were getting tired of the same old thing. It was getting way too predictable at this point. His show was one episode away from getting cancelled. “Anytime now. The viewers are declining at this very moment, Trimmer.”

“I can see that. No need to point it out. I’m not stupid.” the man contemplated over it for a bit, carefully analyzing and did minor calculations in his head. It didn’t take a genius to see how his series was going downhill.

Bim skimmed through the paper he was handed, only to fling it into the air. “I need new ideas, new tricks that would make everyone think: wow, this sure is something you don’t see every day!”

“Exactly how can we achieve that level of performance?” countered his superior, seemingly eager and looking forward for an answer.

“Bullshit.” before he could ever let the emcee continue, the staff that worked on one of the previously postponed series cuts in. “Let’s give the audience what they want. I say we give them more Chase Brody.”

“Chase Brody this, Chase Brody that,” the bearded female said in a mocking tone. “What about me? Gloria Borger?!”

“No, wait. How about this,” Bim bargained. He knew well that the vlogger was in no condition to even perform anything that required too much movement. Push him to his limits, he might not return as himself for good. “One day. All I ask is one day, and I’ll come up with the biggest hit show there ever is!”

“We’ll talk about it in a later time. I have faith in this man, so Bim, surprise me.” or his very livelihood would be at stake. “This meeting is adjourned. I shall see you all in the next week.”

At once, the members pushed themselves off their seats. The chief executive approached the man, patting his back as some sort of friendly gesture. “I expect great things from you, Trimmer. Great things. Don’t let me down, son.” which roughly translated to not fail him and embarrass him in front of the whole network.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Have a nice day, sir.”

For the first time that day, Bim could hear himself breathe. He lets out the air he didn’t realize he’d been holding the entire time.

Millions of questions pop in his head. He wasn’t a magician. He’s no miracle worker. He can’t make these things up as he goes. But he’s Bim Trimmer! He had to think big. Easing his way out of the parking lot, he steered with great caution. It was extremely unnerving. “Come on, Trimmer.  _Think_. Your life depends on it. Like, literally.”

Rolling down the window of his car, he inhaled deeply. The stress was getting to him. He needed a breather. The park bench seemed to be the place for the entertainer. A part of him was relieved to have successfully persuaded his boss to extend. If not for this, he would not have been where he is right now, sipping away at the styrofoam that contained his coffee. Bim may need a stronger substitute.

Desperate for a sign, a ray of hope to come, he squeezed his eyes shut. He prayed to the heavens for his wish to be heard. “Please give me a clue, some hint,  _anything_!”

Eyes closed, and his drink emptied, the emcee heaves out a sigh. Soon, he won’t be the only one occupying the bench.

Searching through his bag, the distressed man took a seat beside the troubled show host. He had been kicked out of the bus when he didn’t have a ticket for it. There was a high chance that he left his wallet at home. He couldn’t seem to feel it from the back of his pocket or in the insides of his satchel. Marvin refused to think that it had been snatched from him. He can only hope that the audition hasn’t started yet. If he wanted, he could have used his ability to teleport himself to the place but that would raise a lot of questions and suspicions about him. That was why he slumped back into the chair, with his chin tilted to the sky.

Maybe this just wasn’t his day. Right beside him, a man seemed to be in a similar state as him. “Could this day get any worse?”

“Tell me about it.” Bim set the cup to sit on the bench. His eyes remained shut.

“On my way to the talent show, I was asked to get out of the bus for not having the money to pay.” Marvin casted down his gaze on his palms. “Lost it to some thief, I suppose.”

“Tough luck.” muttered Bim. “Say, what are the odds of you having extraordinary skills that you don’t regularly see on cable?”

Startled by this, the masked magician reluctantly answered. “Slightly high.”

Cracking an eye open, Bim examined the stranger with great interest. Half of his face was carefully concealed under his mask. This must be it—the sign he had been waiting for. “For real?”

Marvin simply shrugged. Trimmer thought this might be his chance to change the game. Returning to his sulking self, he sighed.

The illusionist seemed to have picked up on this. “Why the long face?” he ventured. Not long, he recognized the familiar coat and glasses of the man. He could've sworn he’d seen him somewhere, sometime before.

“Funny you asked, really. Don’t ask.” Bim pinched his temples, exhaling large breaths through his nostrils. Lifting his lukewarm cup to his level, he asked. “Coffee?”

“Well, the least I could do is give you this.” Marvin kindly offered. “Some flowers, to brighten up your day. And maybe a bunny rabbit. Whatever I could find in this here hat of mine.”

What was he? Five? This was barely enough to impress him. Instead of blurting it out, he pulled off a professional smile. “I appreciate your help and everything, I genuinely do, but shouldn’t you be doing your party the tricks elsewhere?”

“I beg your pardon? This, my friend, is quality magic. Pure, _genuine_ magic.”

“For twelve year olds birthday parties, sure.”

“You’ll eat your words once you see this.” immediately, the magician clapped his hands together. The man takes the beverage and puts it into his grip. It was toasty and weighed a lot more than it used to. “Behold!”

Astounded by his amazing trick, the entertainer woke from his stupor and turned to face him. “Bim Trimmer. Game show host, and I would like to know your name.” he extended his hand to him. “Did you say that you needed a job?”

“Marvin the Magnificent. It’s an honor meeting you here.” he vigorously shook his hand. “Wow that escalated quickly. So I’m part of your show now?”

“Not officially, no. We need to go through papers and interviews first.”

“Actually, I was on my way to the studio for the talent audition.”

“Need a lift? We might as well be going the same way.” Bim pushed himself to his feet, pressing his suit and motioned to the vehicle.

Marvin politely declined. “That would be too much.”

“I  _insist_.” The show host prodded as he guided him to his car. Marvin really didn’t have the heart to turn him down. A free ride is a free ride, after all. Extracting the keys from his pocket, Bim opened the door for the man. “What exactly are your skills? Your field of expertise?”

Thanking him, the magician obliged. Sidling into his seat, he fits the seatbelt on. Bim hurried over to his side, and tended to his own. “I do all sorts of magic. Pretty self-explanatory. Here, let me show you.”

Once they were set to leave, Marvin produced a prop of his. He inspected the transparent glass screen to see if it was clear to go. “A card? You expect me to fall for that? I already know this trick.”

“How do you explain this then?” with one, swift movement, the piece of plastic had vanished into thin air.

Bim was very much tempted to claim and shout it was sorcery. “Under your sleeve.”

“Check again.” he then finds the card by his windshield. Bim shifted the gear simultaneously fixing his eyes on the card plastered to the glass. He tried flicking it away with his wiper, to no avail. “If I’m not mistaken, that wasn’t there before.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing but I’m liking it!” Bim watched with eyes like a child, quite fascinated by a simple trick made with two cards. “You can fool anyone with it!”

“How about this,” Trimmer navigated the traffic, carefully weaving along the lane. They then pulled into the driveway. “Forget about the audition. I’ll give you a job, a permanent one with the highest position. All you have to do is say yes, and you’ll be on your way to stardom.”

The look in Bim’s eyes was serious, despite the smile he was smiling. If he were to sign a contract, that would require him to reveal his tricks. He was dead set about it, and Marvin had a bad feeling about this.

“I’m afraid I can’t, sir.” not the answer Bim was expecting, but he thinks he might be able to convince him. “That would expose me to the public.”

“Isn’t that the point of your audition?” countered Bim as they arrived at the steps to their building. Just a few feet away was the revolving door that would then lead them into the office. “The offer still stands, Marvin.”

“A great magician never reveals his secrets, Bim.”

“Marvin, please,  _this_  is the least you could do for me.”

“Bim—”

For a fraction of a second, Marvin could see a glimpse of his reflection, and a green entity was grinning back at him. It was something else.

That wasn’t him.

He knew for a fact that it wasn’t.

 _It just can’t be_.

A round of bullets could be heard from the inside of the lobby, muffled screams reached their ears. The two dropped to the ground, their arms over their head. Bim’s ears started ringing. On his feet, he yanked his friend with him.

“Stay down!”

“What do you think I was doing?!”

Sirens drowned out the noise and the gunshots, making it impossible for them to tell what was transpiring within the walls of the building. Police entered through the front in a single file, all armed and ready to fire.

“We got a man down! I repeat, man down!” an officer shouted through his receiver. “Move!”

Emerging next through the doors were the paramedics. They appeared to be headed to the direction of a particular vlogger’s studio. “Out of the way!”

Panicked voices barked out commands, clearing a path for the emergency response team to come in. Not far from where they were, a body collapsed finally to the ground, head first. The crew led them to where the injured man had been. Pools of blood bloomed from under his head and torso, the very color of his pasty flesh started to drain from his face.

Dyed in a brilliant red, the unconscious man lay perfectly still. His pulse was growing weak. This made it impossible for them to tell whether or not he was dead. Marvin’s skin crawled at the sight.

“I know that guy. He’s from that sketchy episode.” Marvin watched uncomfortably as they start to surround the body as they tended to the actor. “Ended up shooting himself in the head  _live_  in front of thousands of people.”

“Never had the chance to cut it out. He recovered miraculously, and no new news had been released so far.”

“How do you know?”

Bim, on the other hand, interacted with him in person. He never knew the man that well, but just enough to say that he was not so bad as a person. He had some issues, some were nasty ones, the poor soul. To top it all off, they had been in the very building he walked in and out of for as long as he could remember. The press wouldn’t like to hear about this. “We worked for the same company. Brody’s a good man. Divorced. Father of two kids.”

The body of the young man was delicately being transferred into a gurney. “Male, in his early twenties. Suffering from a bullet wound to the abdomen. Taken a hard hit to the head. Blunt weapon found to be the butt of a gun.”

“He’s losing a lot of blood!”

 _Lots and lots of blood_.

Bim found himself drooling all over. His toes curled at the sight. He couldn’t stop shaking.

Resisting the terrible urge to lunge in for the kill, he balled his fist and bit the inside of his cheeks. “Trimmer?”

He couldn’t help it. Chase looked no different from the chunks of carnage being sent to the front of his door. Fresh and raw—the way he liked it. The wheeled cot draws near. Strong, coppery stench filled his nose. If he couldn’t have Marvin in, he guessed this would have to be his last meal.

“Trimmer, you’re in the way.” repeated the magician. He couldn’t help himself. He really,  _truly_  tried. Staggering forward to Chase’s direction, he received raised brows and confused looks from the confused crowd.

Marvin’s face twisted into a horrified look. One of his specialties happened to include reading minds and between the lines. “Don’t you even dare think about it.”

“Think about what?” Bim spat the words out.

“I can see it in your eyes.” or feel, rather. The grumbling in his stomach was loud. His hunger, stronger. “Fight it. Don’t let it get the best of you.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re _nothing_ like me.”

“Bim, listen.”

He replied with a growl. There was no reasoning with him at this point. This leaves him with no choice. “I see. So that’s how it is then,” Marvin held his shoulders tightly, turning him around to face him. He then leans into his ear to whisper. “Look at me. When I snap my fingers, you will sleep.”

“A stupid trick like that won’t work on me—”

With a snap of his finger, the entertainer tips forward, gently falling into his arms. And along went the stretcher that carried the famous actor. As they passed, a member of the response team stopped by to check on him. “Excuse me sir, is he alright? What happened to him?”

“He knows him. Chase is a friend of his.” he explained. At this, Bim quietly snickered under his breath. “Fell into a shock. Couldn’t handle it. They were close, and seeing the guy like this upset him.”

“You want me to help?”

“We’ll be fine.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was drunk. Or high, something like that.” commented the medic. He watched his patient being wheeled out in front, and was just about to take off.

“Absolutely. Totally wasted. Don’t worry, I’ll drive him home.” reassured he.

“Drive safe.” Marvin nodded.

Hoisting Bim over his shoulder as they carefully descend the steps, he managed to say. “Liar.”

“Fine, I’ll help you with your job.” groaned the magician.

Bim smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the concept of Bim being a cannibal! You know, when Danny was thrown into this food processor and turned into a burger?
> 
> The idea keeps things very interesting but I completely have no idea how I could use this piece of information and connect it all together. But that would be for me to deal with later.
> 
> Also, the Egopocalypse hype is killing me. And this has to be the longest chapter there ever is!


	3. Lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The surgeon doesn’t seem to mind their current predicament as much as he did. In fact, he was perfectly calm with it.
> 
> What Iplier didn’t know was, behind his composed exterior, the poor man was scared out of his mind.
> 
> He had been too caught up in his own thoughts to sense the fear swelling in the surgeon’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to take a dark twist. Or maybe not? Just a little calm before the storm, I suppose. I hope you would enjoy!
> 
> And a little disclaimer before you continue: nothing here is credible and I have no idea how surgery actually goes. Plus, Iplier is a licensed physician who will assist Shcneep throughout.
> 
> (And we’re going for an exploratory laparotomy type of surgery here. Is laparotomy still a thing? Really don’t know how real emergency surgeries work, though.)

The color of red clung to his surgical gloves, the stain forever leaving a permanent mark on his mind. He could remember clearly the pain present in his patient’s dulled eyes, as he listened stiffly to the agonizing scream that pierced his ears. He hadn’t put enough anesthetics on the poor man, he realized. That wasn’t on him; the anesthetist was to blame. It was hardly even his fault, but had he known it sooner, the poor man wouldn’t have gone through much. He then waited for him to calm down, to stitch up his limb and stop the blood from gushing out. The memory of it had haunted his mind, and he doubt that he made it. What if he had died of infection?

Cracking his cold, white knuckles, he exhaled a heavy sigh. What if he had failed to keep him alive? What if he’s dead? The heart monitor indicated no such thing, but the steady rise and fall of his chest wasn’t enough to convince him. He was far too exhausted to answer any of those questions, but luckily for him, there were duty calls. More patients to attend to, he thought, more to keep his mind off the unconscious patient.

Discarding the bloodied gloves into the bin, he shoved his cap on the sink. He rinsed the blood off his face, trying his hardest to push the thought to the far reaches of his head. Thick crimson spiraled down the drain before vanishing entirely. Too many had inevitably died under his watch, and having that number was bearing on his conscience. Eyes closed, and heart heavy with shame, he spent his time listening to the gush of water that washed off the color.

At the very second he stepped out of the door, barely exiting the operating room, a nurse called out to him in panic. Drawing a small breath, he asked. “What’s the situation?”

“Caucasian male, in his twenties. Heavy blood loss. Has multiple injuries, and possibly a minor concussion.” his attendant reported to him without a single pause for breath. “He requires immediate surgery. Penetrating abdominal trauma. From the looks of it, the bullet seems to have lodged dangerously close to his liver.”

Sounds like a _breeze_. “And Schneeplestein will be helping out for the night.”

Iplier nearly  _choked_  on his own spit. The doctor would very much like her to repeat what she just said. She might have said it wrong, and he would like to confirm if she did. There has to be a mistake—there has got to be. The physician stammered. “Come again?”

“A man has taken a gunshot to the side and is in need of immediate surgery.” his nurse recited for him.

“And who am I to perform it with?” the doctor had his fingers crossed. Perhaps he was hearing things. He must be. He  _had_  to be. Sleepless nights, skipping meals—it was all taking a heavy toll on the doctor. The work and stress was getting to him and, not to mention, the weight of his guilt.

“Doctor Henrik von Schneeplestein, sir.” repeated the nurse. Iplier had to blink twice to make sure he wasn’t confusing things inside his head. “And he’s on his way here, it appears.”

Him? The very doctor who claimed to be good at his works? Iplier had dreaded the day that they would once again cooperate in the same room for an emergency.

“Oh look, there he is now.”

In his every step, blots of crimson would fall to the floor. The distinct coppery scent invaded his nostrils as he shifted uncomfortably to the side, facing the surgeon’s direction. The pale man had this insane look in his eyes. Faint colors of red stain his lab gown, blood still dripped down the fabric. He looked fresh from the operating room, seemingly straight out of a horror movie. Whether or not the surgery was a success was something he would have to ask for later.

For the sake of propriety, Iplier nervously extended his hand to shake his. He didn’t want to get off with a bad start, much less be on bad terms with the guy. In turn of his gesture, the other doctor pulled it vigorously. “Hallo, handsome young man. I look forward to working with you again.”

The doctor feigned a smile. Was he allowed to choose another doctor? Iplier did not hesitate to ask. “Is there anyone else available to lend a hand tonight?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Most of them are on leave for the week, clocked out for the night, and some are in the operating rooms as we speak.” his nurse explained.

The physician’s knees wobbled. The idea of him being stuck in the same room as the good doctor that he says he is, was enough for him to grow weary and stand his guard. For what seemed like nine months of his absence, Schneeplestein wasn’t as stable as he used to be. Too much caffeine intake aside, he had not been quite himself since his return. Nothing good would come out of this, if he were to dump the responsibility on him. He can’t rely on him getting the job done, given his condition. Instead of backing out and leaving the rest to him, he sighed in defeat. He knew better than to quit. “Fine then.”

“Don’t worry, he’s the best surgeon there is.”

“Well,  _that’s_  a relief to hear.” this eased him a bit, sure. Rolling his eyes, he followed the nurse who led them to the operating theatre.

The two quickened their paces. There wasn’t a minute to lose. Upon entering the double doors, they bolted to the where the sink was. From there, they quickly changed into a much cleaner and more appropriate attire. Removing the soiled gloves, Schneeplestein chucked them away into the bin.

Picking up the antibacterial soap, Iplier thoroughly brushed his hands and in between with rough strokes. In a single direction, Iplier his arms through the running water, starting off from fingertips to his elbow. Beads of cold sweat dribbled down the side of his face, his heart beating uncontrollably. Risking a sideways glance, he could see Henrik taking his precious time rinsing off the suds and bubbles that collected over his hairy arms. The surgeon doesn’t seem to mind their current predicament as much as he did. In fact, he was perfectly calm with it. Or so he thought.

Beneath that well-placed mask of his, Henrik did the best he could to control his breathing.

What Iplier didn’t know was, behind his composed exterior, the poor man was scared out of his mind—scared to  _death_. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts to sense the fear swelling in the surgeon’s heart.

Fitting on individual pairs of latex gloves, both of them slipped into their sterile gown. And off they went to the operating theatre. “Where is patient?”

“He’s being checked for his vitals.” it was common sense. He tried to think he’d somehow forgotten, and he actually had an idea what to do.

“Of course, of course. Right after I cut open his insides!”

“No. That would be  _after_  he is transferred and given anesthetics.” Iplier admonished. That was not how it was supposed to work. He was starting to lose it. He grabbed for Henrik’s hands before he could get a hold of the sharper tools lying on the cart. “We can’t do that unless the patient is secured.”

“I’m sure this man can take it without chemicals. He is a  _very_  brave, strong man.” said Schneeplestein, going over his tools with his back to the steel bed. “Shall we begin our operation on Herr Jase?”

“Chase. His name is  _Chase_  Brody.”

“Yes, yes. I know him! He is my patient from not so long ago.” he said all the while approaching the unoccupied table, studying the fine blades laid on the cloth. “Such a coincidence for us to meet once again.”

“What was he in for?” Iplier dared to ask.

 “Bullet to the head.” there was a hint of sadness that lingered for not long on his face, and nothing else showed.

His shoulders dropped. How unfortunate it was to have their little reunion in a hospital, Iplier would have liked to add. This might be the same place he had been to when they first met. It was sad, now that he thinks about it. Iplier pitied the man.

“There he is,” wheeled in through the door. Henrik’s heart sank at the sight of his friend, seeing him in such a terrible shape. He tried to suppress a whimper and every single emotion from coming out. He shouldn’t be thinking about things he wasn’t supposed to. He had to  _focus_.

A couple of nurses had rolled in the gurney, keeping a bottle of dextrose hovering over him, injected in his veins through a tube. Henrik quietly spectated as his body was carried over to the table. “Nice and steady now.”

Pale skin had been exposed to the light, a patch of dried blood stuck to his side. Chase’s eyes had been bolted shut, out cold for quite a while. The surgeon could barely remember what he looked like back when he was awake. It never failed to bother him how they had nearly identical faces. The same eyes, shared the same lips—the only thing that could tell them apart was the fact that _he_ wasn’t the one on the table. Henrik tried not to think about it as the anesthetist was about to put the sleeping agents into him. The second the anesthetic mask had been placed over the patient, their operation began at once.

Bustling about, the nurses started placing tubes and hooking up the subject into the machines. The team surrounded the man’s unconscious body, throwing sterile drapes over the penetrated area. The surgical technicians pushed the cart to where the table was, standing by, and tools at the ready. It was now their turn in the spotlight; their time to shine. “Patient is hemodynamically stable.”

“Lost quite the amount of blood.”

“No peritoneal injury.”

“Doctor Schneeplestein?” one of his assistants prodded, expecting and waiting for his signal. He watched as his chest rise and fall rhythmically before making a move.

 “First, we have to get the sharpnel out of you, Herr Chase. Tongs?” this earned him an odd look from the doctor right next to him, but gave him the instrument he needed regardless. Extracting the fragments protruding out of his skin, he dumped them into a metallic bowl. There was no longer a need to get the bullet, for it had exited, leaving his insides in a devastated state and this gaping hole on either sides of his torso. He then went right to the next procedure. “Scalpel?”

“Scalpel.” Handing over the blade, he watched him get a grip on its slender hilt. Then, he expertly glided it over the spot where the bullet had been.

Watching as the man eagerly sliced through layers of the patient’s flesh, Iplier was tempted to ask if what he was doing was a joke to him. Another press down, he could actually cut open unnecessary veins, and the last thing he needs was that happening in a crucial time as this. He had to be careful, if they didn’t want any extra work on their table. He was starting to doubt if this man even knew how to perform proper surgery. Was he really the prodigy surgeon that saved plenty of lives in his time? With his poorly executed cutting, the last thing he would call him would be a _good_  doctor.

“You’re going to rupture a major vessel with that recklessness.”

“This is standard procedure. Nothing much for a doctor like me.”

“Get the cauterizer.” instructed the clearly frustrated physician. Henrik was handed the bovie cautery, and they closed the tiny drops of blood from coming out. His attending physician took care of placing the clamp to keep the incision wide open. Soon, they were in, where the injury had been.

Piled on top of each other were his liver, their subject’s insides contracted and expanded in his every breath. The long entrails twitched and pulsated, functioning like any organ normally would. Seemed healthy at first glance, that no one would have suspected anything wrong. Buried under the mounds of guts were his bowels riddled with holes.

Lifting the innards, and moving the organs out of their place, Schneep inspected them with his gloved hands. “The bullet seemed to have gone through here in this bit—”

Warm, gushes of blood filled the cavity, and his assistant haphazardly placed the surgical towels. His hands dropped whatever he was holding; his fingers wouldn’t stop _shaking_. No, no, _no_. This was definitely _not_ the time! Iplier called for the suction as the subject won’t stop bleeding. In his years of apprenticeship in the field, never had he seen such primitive practice. “Do you even _have_ a medical license for this?”

“That question is not important. I am a great doctor, and _that_ is what matters.” to Iplier, he comes off more of an _amateur_  to him. “We have patient that needs saving.”

Iplier cleared his throat, returning to the task at hand. Lending the camera over, the surgeon began inspecting the extent of the damage in the area. Going for the sutures and the curved needle, he sewn every hole shut.

“Seems fine here. Nothing a good old stitch couldn’t fix.” navigating the endoscope to get a better look at the wound on the monitor, Henrik failed to see the active bleeding in the bowel. Chase’s heart rate fluctuates, his breathing, shallow. “What is happening?!” 

Wide-eyed, the physician spots the defect on the screen, a couple of centimeters from where Henrik was exploring. “There!”

“We’re  _losing_  him!”

“No, we are  _not_!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re dying.” he informed the sedated patient, eager to put an end to their case and call it a night. He had given up all hope at this point.

“No, he will make it! My old friend, don’t die on me!”

“You could just cut off the greater defect and put it back together—”

“Shut up, nurse!” the two chided in unison.

“I see. There is only little damage,” the physician concluded. “Resection of the small bowel should be in order.”

“Good job, doctor.” remarked his fellow doctor. “I do not know what I would do without you!” the attending nurses rolled their eyes into their sockets.

“Patient is stabilizing.”

For five seconds of debating how the stitches would be done, his assistant decided to guide him through the procedure. Severing the irreparable segment, Schneeplestein successfully reattached the two ends using only whatever instrument the physician offered to him.

Collecting the rest of his intestines, he returned them to their original order, stacking them back to where they belonged. With the suctions removed, and their minds at ease, they began to wrap it up. Iplier aided him with the sutures, mending the skin together. And then, the team took care of the rest.

“You will live, it would seem.” Iplier patted the side of his patient’s face.

A single gunshot wound had been finally stitched closed. Their patient, lying soundly on the table, soon to be transferred out.

Changing out of their uniforms, Schneeplestein had collapsed in one of the furnitures in the lounge, and Iplier opposite of him.

Sprawled on the provided cots, the two heroes took their well-deserved break. Half an hour in, they lay there, completely still. Both out of breath, Iplier decided to break the silence. “That was stupid.”

“Indeed.” a scoff from the physician, a small giggle from Henrik.

“How was the operation you had earlier?”

“Cannot say. Tell me, how was yours?”

“I have _no idea_.” Iplier pinched his temples, trying to relieve the pain. “You know, you shouldn’t have panicked.”

“For once, I have arrived at the same conclusion with you.” Schneeplestein realized belatedly.

“ _Finally_. Finally, something we could agree on.”

A soft chuckle bubbled out of the surgeon’s lips. Their intimate celebration was short-lived the second their nurse bursts through the doors.

“Sir, we have another emergency.” why _now_? Schneeplestein had a horrible feeling about this. It didn’t bode too well. He hated to leave that room. He wanted to stay there, closed off from the outside world. He wanted to curl in himself. He didn’t want to relive through that moment. Why can’t they be left alone? Despite his unwillingness, he shaked off the urge to sleep and stretched his limbs. Tried slapping himself to keep awake.

The two doctors quickly rose to their feet, prying their eyes open as they fought through their fatigue. “Details?”

Handing over the clipboard, Iplier read through the paper as quickly as he possibly could under five seconds. “Sean McLoughlin. Heavy blood loss. Multiple organ failures, and they couldn’t find anything else.”

Henrik immediately asked, as if he already knew the situation. “Is he having violent seizures? Convulsions?”

The color from the surgeon’s face ebbed and bled away. Iplier could sense the rising tension the other doctor was under. It was deep, and heavy. How does he know, as if he saw it coming? Was this Sean a patient of his as well?

“Apparently so. It says here that he had been in the middle of recording a livestream. Girlfriend called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital.”

“This... This isn’t good. This can’t be good.”

“The patient is dying. How can it possibly be good?”

Instead of whipping up a snappy retort that would have driven the physician into the pits of hell, he sobered up, and rolled his shoulders. “Ready the machines and prepare the operating theatre.”

“They should be here in fifteen minutes.”

The doctor’s tone was dead serious. His eyes flickered between Iplier and the clipboard he was handed. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, update takes hella long because apparently I am not able to juggle things all at once. I did actual research for this one, and had to stomach all those surgeries just so I could make off with a decent chapter. I mean, the entirety of the chapter focuses on the surgery, so I wanted it to feel somewhat _real_.
> 
> The things we writers wouldn’t do to finish their work. The pain, the blood, sweat, and tears. (Is that a BTS reference?) Ya feel me?
> 
> I do hope to get as many chapters as I could in the future! (Because the pacing is crap). Wish me luck!


	4. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark wasn’t all too happy when his companion didn’t succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAN’T WAIT FOR THE COLLAB THESE TWO DORKS ARE WORKING ON IRL!!!!!

Clapping his hands slowly, the figure walked towards his direction, commending him mockingly.

**“ _Typical._ ”**

There was a hint of contempt in his voice, laced with spite and irritation. Obviously, the man was disgusted by his incompetence.

Shrill ringing pierced his hearing, its pitch amplified the closer the man approached. Inside the lonely realm, a form materialized itself behind him. Clearly, he was displeased when he found out about the news. Lowering his head, he sighed. He wasn’t all too happy when his companion didn’t succeed. Blood oozed from Anti’s ears, and the long gash on his throat reopened.

“͇͠W̟h̴͘͜a̺͘͜t̨̗͈’d̹̭͟ ̧̠̘̰͟͠y̸o͇ư̡͠ ͉̙̲͝e̲̪͈͢x̴̧̟̰̭p̶̶͉̗e̢͕͘͝c̷̢̭t̞͕͈͠ ̯̦̻͢͜m̵͞e ͉̘҉̨t͍͏̨o͚ ̺͕d̴͇̖̲ọ͠?̴͔̩̯͜” the glitch’s face twitched, twisting into a deep scowl in response to this. Blotches of scarlet stained his collar bone, but he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.

 **“Not fuck up. _Listen_  to what I say. Stick to the  _damn_  plan.”** the ancient demon retorted, his hands in a tight fist, that his knuckles started to turn white. All he wanted was scream at his face for doing something so reckless, something unbelievably _irresponsible_ of him.

“͠I͝  _d̸i̵d_.͠ ̢Wh̕a̶t̢ ̴d̛id ҉yo̷u th̸ink ͡had ̕ha̴pp̶e̴n͘ed?͝” the sickly green figure jerked his head menacingly, taking offense in his reply. Anti did everything he possibly could under the strain of the barrier that served as a line between the humans and theirs. In the dead center, there exists the boundary that placed him on the other side, where his influence is very limited. This kept them in check, isolating them in that hell.

**“You nearly _killed_  him—your  _host_  body.”**

“̷Wh͝at’͡s̛ ͟i͟t ̡t̵o̢  _y̙̖͈̜̺o̡̥̻͢u_?”̛

Anti could barely give a _damn_. It shouldn’t be his business to meddle around with his work. Why should Dark _care_? This shouldn’t concern him.

 **“That’s the _one thing_ I very specifically told you  _not_  to do.” **the deceiver admonished, deeply disappointed by Anti’s poor choice of action. Knocking out the victim, and scare them to death was ideal. Bring their worst nightmares to life and make them watch their every single fears happen right before their very eyes. Suffocate them, torture them until they lose their consciousness. They needed to strike when they are at their _weakest_. They want them subdued, incapacitated—not _dead_. What use would a _corpse_ be to them?

“Ḩo̴̦w̻ a̪m̕ ̦I su̦͏p̴̰p̣os̱͟e̷d̼ to̶̹ ͢g̛et͘ o̯҉ut̶̟? ̶̱U̫n͏le͙s̝s͍ ̛̼h͢e’̷̣s ̥hụṟ̕t, ̹ I͢’̵̬͙̝̖͜͢͡ͅm ̴͔̭҉̴̢͠s̯̻̮͜͝͠t̨̯̲̹̰̳̯͜u̮͏̛c̫͈̯̩̖̕k̵̬͍ ̨̝͕̤̪͞͠͡ͅi̜̖̦̟ņ̸͇̙͕̺͡͞ ͉̗̥̲̩҉̵͡͝t̴̛̲̤̮̙̖̙h̝̗̻̻͉͞i̵̴̡̕҉s̸̛ ̡̡̛͙͘͏̵s̷̵̷̡̬̕͘t̸̛̙͞͡u̱̰͇͚̤̫p̪͉̯̮͎̞͝i̖͎͉̳͉͜͡҉̶̢̕d̳̝̺̲̮̳ ̣̕͝v͙̞̝̟̭̥҉̶҉͢͢o̧̼͍̺̕͢i̧͇̘̗͏҉̡d̡̝̹̬͇̪̲̕͠͏͝͡!” exclaimed the glitch in his defense.

 **“Which would have been different, _had you gotten him under your thumb!_ ”** Dark growled, his energy flared and flickered violently. His voice boomed, once again making Anti’s ears bleed.

“He ҉i̛ş s̞̤̣͕̰͓͕̗͗͊̾̅t̐͆͌̆̈́r̪̫̱̰̩͕̓őͤ̇n͗̌ͫͧͨg͔̠͓̖͍̭̰̲ͣ͆̎̈́̚!̶ An͜d somehow…͡ ̕b͡ecam͟e͠ ͠w̨ay beyon̴d͏ m̴y͜ ̵cont̵ro͜ļ̕.”

**“That’s the problem. You can easily overpower him, but you’re as pathetic as you can get.”**

How _dare_ he? He had no idea what lengths he’d gone through, and all sorts of trouble he underwent to make the Irishman writhe in pain. He did what he could as far as his form allowed him. “Wh͞a̷t͠ ̵sh͝ơuld I ͢d̛o t̡h͏en? ͜If i͞t’̷s  _s̶o_  ̶eas͢y, ̸͟wh̢̛y̵͠͞ d̶o͡҉n͏͡’t͝ ͠y͝o̷u ̧d͜o̴͢ ͢͝i͢͞ţ ̸ _y͘͏̢o̴u͠͝͏r҉̧s̢̕e̶͟l͜͝f_!?”

 **“Unlike you, I have a body of my _own_ —a vessel in which I have full command over.” **he reminded him through gritted teeth. Dark wasn’t the one who had problems getting ahold of his puppet. The look of scorn on his face never vanished, for having failed on a simple task as that. **“You, on the other hand, rely on _him_.”**

He hated to admit it, but he does. No matter how many times he tried, he would run out of time before his mission was complete. The void simply constricts his every move, making it incredibly difficult for him. It was draining all his ability. Hurting him was the only option there is. “T͢͡ḩ̵ȩ͝r̵e͏͜ ͜͞w͜as not͟h͠i͝ņ͡g͠ el͟͞s̛e̡ ͘I co҉uļd͠ ͜͞d͟o.”

Dark relented, and his anger wavered. He was partially aware that Anti has reached his full capacity. **“Fine. I have no choice but to lend you a bit of my strength.”**

A bit? And how is that supposed to help? If he spent every ounce of his energy and was still not enough, what makes him think that amount would do the trick? “Y̴o̷͘u͜͡ ̴̷a͡nd ҉̶I ̨̢arȩ̷ ͢͞bo͟un̴̛d͡ ͜to ͡tḩ͟i̶s̨ h͝e̷l̛l̷ ͡͝o͜͟f͏͠ a̕ plac̷e.”

**“One can draw power from this dimension, if they so wish.”**

“A̶͠nd th̸e̡̛ ͏c͢͝a̸t̷̢c͘͡h͜?̷”

The demon paused. **“There is no catch.”**

 _That’s_ more like it. A sadistic cackle erupted from his lips; his neck started to wring and bend in all the wrong places.

**“Here, let me… show you.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Anti was pissed at Dark for being too nosy, all I hear is: “a̩̻͠l̸r̵̶̨̼i͇͍͡g̢̧̤̖̯h̻̻͈t̺̫͜͞ ma͉̰n,̙ ̷̪͚̕you̟͜͢͟ ̟̠͕͜d̪͢o̯̜̩ ̛̤͖̕͝y̰̤o̲̠̕u̸̬̩.”
> 
> And um, updates might be twice a month? Or depends when I have fully fleshed out the drafts that are still untouched since last update.


End file.
